A Room with a View
by Annie Blythe
Summary: If walls could talk, they might share a few stories. Five separate, nonlinear scenes in 15 Division's Observation Room. Post-suspension. Sam/Andy.


**A/N:** Each season, we've seen a loaded moment in the observation room - The traffic cam pics of S1, the "You need an axe" conversation of S2... The following scenes are possible "moments" within S3's timeframe. The common thread? **Each moment takes place in the observation room**.

EDIT: These are five **SEPARATE, **nonlinear scenes. Each is a "snapshot" of a moment and should be read accordingly. I hope that makes sense :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Rookie Blue. _

* * *

**I. **

**[cases & nerves]**

Jerry stares at them pointedly, the corners of his lips twitching with a cocky grin. "I know it's your thing… Hot and heavy in the company of criminals, but uh, let's try and keep our hands to ourselves, eh?"

With that, he disappears out the door and enters Interview One.

Torn between incredulity and indignation, Andy works her jaw before forcibly closing her mouth. Jerry thrives on reaction, that much is true, and she isn't keen on giving him one.

Sam lurks in the corner, cool and unflappable.

"Guy's nervous," he offers conversationally, observing the scene before them.

Andy, seated on the far side of the room, angles her body to see through the glass. She watches as Jerry eases into a chair across from the suspect – The guy is a repeat offender in a string of low-end burglaries, a man she and Sam had arrested four months earlier but who had eluded charges.

It's why they're here now.

Observing the interview.

_Alone_.

"Jerry will crack him." Sam's voice carries across the empty room, nonchalant and easy.

"Yup," she echoes, her voice coming out a bit strangled. It's not the first time they've worked together, but there's something about being in here. In the dark. With _him_.

_Implications_, that's all.

"How you doing back there?" he says teasingly, spinning on his heel. He makes a show of highlighting the meters between them and cocking an eyebrow. "You know, uh. Maybe it's a little early to discuss this, but I'm not really a fan of long-distance relationships."

"Sam," she protests, wrinkling her nose. "I'm just trying to be, like…_professional_ here. Jerry's already on our case…"

"Jerry's an ass," Sam interjects, shrugging. "It's what he does, McNally."

"Well, he doesn't have to be all high and mighty about it, like_ he_ has some perfect record. I know for a _fact_ that he and Trace…"

"Nope," Sam cuts in, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "Thanks, but I'll pass on Nash and Barber's sordid history."

"I'm just _saying_," she declares emphatically, flipping her hair behind her shoulder in annoyance. "That I'm only over _here_ because we should keep our distance. You know, in the interest of _professionalism_."

"Professionalism, huh?" He tilts his head to stare at her, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. The next moment, he shrugs, hiding a tiny smile. "I understand. Can't keep your hands off me; it's alright."

She snorts indelicately, making a face at him. "You wish."

"Uniform just does it for some women," he continues without pause, drumming his hands on his stomach. "Can be lethal when combined with charm, good looks, rugged physique..."

"Guess that makes Zoe one lucky lady," she says dryly, folding her arms across her chest. "You done yet?"

"Not by half," Sam remarks with a grin, smirking. There's a predatory gleam to his eyes, a look that makes her heart beat a little faster. "But, uh. I guess I'll save it for later."

"You do that," she instructs, arching an eyebrow.

"You gotta admit, it would be fun," Sam calls over his shoulder, turning back to face the glass. "Way better than observation."

"I'm trying to pay attention," she snaps, trying for irritated and failing miserably.

Still.

It's possible the uniform does something to her.

_Rules are there for a reason_, her mind supplies helpfully.

(She might be in trouble anyway.)

* * *

**II. **

**[apologies & reunions]**

Entering the barn, he sighs and scrubs a hand over his jaw. All he wants to do is stand under the hot spray of the shower. Wipe away the grime of the day. Ease the tension in his shoulders.

He hadn't anticipated the escalating crisis, that's for damn sure: A small-potatoes incident at a daycare had become a full-fledged hostage situation, spurred by a divisive custody battle.

Not for the first time, he recognizes how much this job takes out of him.

He's too distracted to notice the approaching footsteps at first. He tenses when a soft hand slips into his, fingers gliding through the spaces of his own. It only takes him a moment to recognize the touch.

His shoulders relax, and he releases a quiet breath of air.

She leads, and he follows dutifully. She moves toward the closest observation room, her hand grasping the knob and quietly opening the door.

"I think I've proven that I have impeccable timing," she begins softly, spinning around to face him. "Class of my own, I swear," she continues, her gaze dropping to her boots.

Her next words come out in a hurried, frenzied rush. "I'm sorry," she blurts out. "Last night was so _stupid_, Sam; fighting with you was _so stupid_. When I think of how today could have ended…"

She trails off, lips pressing together as her hand moves to cover her mouth. As she swallows thickly, her voice drops to a whisper. "I know you were being realistic about my dad's situation, Sam... I'm just so used to being on the defensive, and it's hard to see 'suggestions' as anything other than implicit criticism..."

Her eyes are wide, apologetic, imploring him to understand. "You were trying to be supportive and I was being a jerk and after all that happened… Sam, when I heard it was _you_ at the daycare…"

She closes her eyes, trailing off.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers after a long moment. "_So _sorry. And it shouldn't take a crisis for me to realize that, but... My heart is racing, and I can't think straight, and if anything had _happened_ to you I don't know what I would have _done_, Sam…"

He doesn't say anything at first.

Lifting his arm, he gently tucks her head into his chest. Fists his hand through the soft weight of her hair, curling around the nape of her neck. He slides the other arm around her waist, pulling her close.

His gaze rests on the blank wall of the observation room. After a moment, he gingerly presses his lips to the top of her head. It's a silent reassurance, one they both need.

They don't plan the moment when their heartbeats sync, a quiet, steady thrum after the noisy, chaotic shift.

_Inhale._ Exhale.

Inhale. _Exhale._

_Tomorrow's a new day,_ he reminds himself.

(He's grateful for fresh starts.)

* * *

**III. **

**[covers & promises]**

"Four nights," he promises, his eyes boring into hers. "_Tops_. I'm a low-brow arms dealer from Vancouver; I'm just there to supplement Ross's cover."

"What about briefing?" she replies, brow furrowing. "Don't you need more prep time?"

He offers a small smile. "I've gone under more abruptly _and_ with less information."

She tugs at a loose thread on his uniform seam, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, and last time, it got you tortured and nearly killed," she states quietly, dully.

"_Andy_…" he begins softly, prepared to talk her through this.

"_Sam_," she parrots, exasperated.

Hesitating, he stares at her with an inscrutable expression. "I know this is sudden, but there isn't any real danger, not for me. They need someone ASAP, and Frank got the call, and…"

She nods along with his explanation, because she understands. She does.

"You know I support you," she interjects suddenly. Raising her eyes to meet his, she speaks slowly but confidently. "You _know_ I have your back, whether we're in the field together or not."

Pausing, she laces their fingers together, continuing in a smaller voice, "And obviously you're capable, but I just..."

She doesn't want false reassurances, _I'll be fine_ and _You have nothing to worry about_. It's not fair to either of them. To serve and protect means to face danger head-on, veteran or rookie, undercover or on a beat. She respects that, respects _him_, and she's happy they're giving him another chance...

She just knows the next few nights will be difficult. Anxiety, sleeplessness, whatever you want to call it. She knows herself. Knows she'll worry.

He settles for his own breed of reassurance, familiar and sure. "I'm gonna miss you, you know."

A slow smile creeps onto her face. Her voice becomes vaguely threatening as she cocks a brow. "You better not meet another girl while you're under. Take her back to your place, romance her, you know, your classic M.O."

"Nah, that's a once-and-done kind of thing for me," Sam says slyly. He tugs her ponytail affectionately, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Well, unless I run into an insurance agent. I hear they're a wild bunch. So, uh… No promises."

She wrinkles her nose, shoving his shoulder. "Yeah, well. Good luck with that."

After a moment of fussing with his uniform collar, she meets his gaze. "So Best _really_ okayed this cover?"

"Yeah," Sam says with a laugh, blowing out a breath. "So I better not screw it up."

"I'm surprised he let you tell me."

"Well, I didn't want to disappear mid-shift. Plus, uh. It's the first time he's ever given me express permission to take you into one of these rooms. _Unsupervised_," he adds with a wry grin.

She purses her lips, suppressing a smile.

"Be safe," she instructs finally, softly. "Don't do anything stupid."

He nods, bending his knees slightly to meet her gaze.

"Be safe," he returns, sliding a hand across her jaw and pulling her forward. "_Don't do anything stupid_."

The darkened interior of the room should lend a somberness to their conversation, but the light in his eyes comforts her.

_Partners,_ she repeats silently.

(She vows to be there when it matters, too.)

* * *

**IV. **

**[injuries & reassurances]**

His hands cup her jaw, swiveling it gently, left then right.

The skin is warm, taut beneath his fingers. Familiar territory he has explored with hands and lips and tongue, the object of late-night study and early-morning greetings. As she exhales now, he feels the shallow, ragged release of air against his palm, and it stirs something inside him.

Something powerful.

Something deep.

His explorations are slow and careful, as much for her sake as they are for his. One thumb slides down her throat, brushing her pulse point with the barest caress. His eyes drop to her uniform, and nimble fingers begin to make quick work of the buttons on her shirt.

From her perch on the edge of the table, she shifts slightly. Dangling legs still bracket his body, but as he moves, she lifts her gaze, meeting his eyes.

"Sam…" she says quietly, warningly.

The tone is familiar – _not the time or place _– but he ignores her protests. Hands skim across her exposed collarbone, palm settling above her left breast. He feels the rhythmic _thump_ of her heart. Releases a deep breath as something in his chest loosens.

"I didn't know," he says at long last. "They just said 1505. Physical altercation, a goddamn _switchblade_…"

His voice fades, and he rests his forehead against hers.

"I'm okay," she murmurs softly, comfortingly. "I would tell you if I wasn't, I swear. A little shaken up, but that's part of the job, and it could have happened to _anyone_…"

He kisses her then, more forcefully than he intends. It's a kiss without restraint, insistent and demanding, and he relishes the solid press of her body against his own.

Warm.

_Alive._

In the next moment, the urgency gives way to something decidedly tender.

His mouth slows its frenzied pace. Lips graze her jaw and throat, sliding across her cheek. He runs a hand through her hair, nose brushing hers as he takes another breath.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," she whispers against his lips.

"Not your fault," he counters, his voice gravelly. He swallows, his jaw working overtime as he selects his words carefully. "Just glad you're okay."

With another slow exhale, he steps back, buttoning her shirt painstakingly. When he finishes, he offers a hand and pulls her upright.

She smiles at that, eyes crinkling softly. She squeezes his hand before releasing her grip.

"We'll talk more after shift," she promises, straightening her uniform.

He nods infinitesimally, tilting his head toward the door. "We should, uh. Get back there before someone misses us."

They fall into step, but she pauses at the door. With a quick spin, she lays a hand on his arm, halting his advance.

"Sam?" she begins softly. "We're okay. We'll _be_ okay."

In silence, he watches her make her way out of the observation room. He follows a few moments later.

_Lion's heart, _he thinks. _Brave enough for two._

(He can still feel her warm pulse, the steady beat tapping against his fingers.)

* * *

**V. **

**[rules & rogues]**

"You don't find any part of this the least bit – _cliché_?" she sighs, head thudding against the wall. His hand moves quickly to cradle the back of her head, cushioning the impact.

"I don't know." The laugh catches in his throat, and he knocks his hips against her own. "That answer your question, copper?"

She stifles a giggle, tilting her head back to give him better access. "Yeah, you've been wanting to do this for a while, huh?" she goads playfully. "15 Division, making dreams come true."

He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with her boasting. After a moment's stalemate - and a quiet whine from her - he resumes nipping at her jaw, lips sliding down the curve of her throat.

"Always with the mouth…" he murmurs gruffly, his words muffled against her skin.

"You like your girls chatty, Swarek. Don't try to tell me differently," she says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, I've never heard you complain about my mouth."

Sam drops his head to her shoulder, letting out a strangled breath. "Not much you'll hear me complain about," he says with a slight chuckle. "Not every day I get to spend QT in the barn with a woman like you."

"A woman _like_ me?" she prompts sassily, thumbing at his jaw. "Or _me_?"

"Mm, just you," he replies with a grin, hoisting her up and pressing her against the wall. His hand moves to the left side of her head, bracing his weight. "Only you."

Smiling, she directs him with a nudge, pushing at his shoulder. "Other wall," she says between breaths, her tone urgent. "No fingerprints anywhere near the glass. Traci's a bloodhound with that kind of stuff."

He suppresses an eye roll, but his tone is affectionate. "Whatever you say, McNally." Threading his fingers through her belt loop, he obliges, yanking her toward the opposite wall.

She glances briefly at her wrist, inhaling sharply. "We have exactly three minutes before Oliver sniffs us out. And I still have to buy him that iced tea from the machine."

"Good thing you never take that watch off, eh?" Sam teases, mouth covering hers. "Five minutes," he suggests, nuzzling her nose.

She pulls back abruptly, aghast. "Do you _want_ him to come looking for us? We're already pushing it." Eyeing him sternly, she sets her jaw. "_Three_."

"I could convince you otherwise if I really wanted to," Sam replies calmly, his voice suggestive. "Besides, I left a box of donuts on my desk. We have a cushion."

Her eyes narrow speculatively as she assesses him. "Interesting. So you _do_ plan things."

He flashes a grin, wide and bright. "Maybe." He carefully brushes her bangs behind her ear. "The important stuff, anyway."

She smiles at his admission, fingers slipping in between his duty belt and waist. "Is that right?"

With a swift tug, she flips them until his back is against the wall. The smile on her face grows, and he finds himself mirroring it.

"Oh, so _that's_ how this is gonna go?" he murmurs against her cheek, chuckling lightly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining..."

"Give and take," Andy sing-songs, sliding her hands up his chest and pressing her lips to his ear. "That's how partners roll."

"Huh," Sam intones thoughtfully. "_Well._ Nice as this is, we've wasted far too much talking, so…"

Slipping a hand behind her neck, he guides her mouth to his, silencing her reply.

Her watch goes off three minutes later, interrupting their suspended reverie.

"You set an _alarm_?" Sam asks incredulously, pulling back with a grimace. "Really?"

"What?" she says defensively, hitting a button on her watch to silence the beeping. "It seemed like a good idea."

"You're a nut," he answers evenly, shaking his head.

"I'm a _planner_," she corrects him. "And it's not like this is news, so just... Ugh, shut up." Pushing off the wall, she straightens her shirt, carefully rebraiding her hair. Her tone is exasperated, but her lips curve upward with the trace of a smile.

"Hey." He circles her wrist with his hand, eyes crinkled in amusement. "Worth it, right?"

She offers a reluctant smile, pushing up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Worth it," she echoes grudgingly.

Pulling away, she gives herself the once-over. "Now let me go out first," she insists. "What do you think? Presentable?"

"I'd say so," Sam teases, letting his gaze linger.

She flushes at his words but shakes him off. "Just give me a minute or two headstart, okay?"

Twisting the knob, she pushes the door open gently, slipping through the crack. It's only when she raises her eyes...

She's greeted with the sight of her riding partner, leaning against the opposite wall, legs crossed and a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"Don't mind me. Just stopped to grab a snack before the show," Oliver says, taking a large bite of glazed donut. He can't conceal his widening smile as he stares at Andy's deer-in-the-headlights expression. "Wanted to thank Sammy for being _so thoughtful_."

She reddens but aims for collected, composed. "Oh yeah? Well, uh. I haven't seen him."

"That right?" Oliver questions, dusting off his fingers on his uniform. "Interesting. And here I thought you two had a secret code...One knock means you're in the mood, two knocks means all clear..."

"Nope," Andy says, shrugging. Shifting nervously on her feet, she points in the direction of the parking lot. "Anyway, we should probably..."

The door swings open, and Sam - clearly not anticipating a hallway _tete-a-tete_ - bumps into Andy, knocking her off-balance in the process.

"The man of the hour," Oliver crows with glee, as Andy shrinks back, attempting to blend in with the wall. "_Sam_my. Good to see you, brother."

Swiveling toward Andy, Oliver grins triumphantly. "McNally, you gotta get better at following directions. I asked for tea, not sugar."

"Told you," she hisses under her breath to Sam.

"And you, brother. Thanks for the mid-morning pick-me-up," Oliver continues jovially, gesturing to the box of donuts across the room. "Appreciate it. Funny, though..." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Here I am, uniformed cop eating a donut, and I'm _still_ not the overwhelming stereotype in this happy little group."

Sam merely blinks, recovering quickly. With an easy shrug, he looks at Oliver. "You just remember who let you play bunkmate, Shaw."

His expression is impassive as he exits the hallway, and Oliver smirks mockingly, miming his actions.

As Sam turns the corner, he catches her eye. Slowing his stride, he mouths wordlessly, "I'll see you later, McNally." There's a mischievous undercurrent to his expression, and against her better judgment, she smiles.

A second later, she remembers where she is.

_I'll never live this one down_, she thinks, risking a quick glance at Oliver. _Even so..._

There are worse things, definitely.

(The smile stays.)

* * *

_A/N the Second: If anyone is going to bust them, I hope it's Oliver. The possibilities are just delightful._


End file.
